


Say You'll Remember Me

by Morse_s Child (sherlockstummy)



Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Letters, Love Letters, Memory Related, Multi, Sad, Stars, Tears, by proxy, hints of a threesome at the end, morse is dead, there is hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockstummy/pseuds/Morse_s%20Child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if it's just in your wildest dreams...</p><p>Robbie's moving and finds an old memory box filled with letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say You'll Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an AU post on tumblr: "“i found your box of letters underneath my bed last night and because i’m a nosy motherfucker i decided to read them and it turns out they were all addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and i’m not quite sure why i thought this would be a good idea but here i am, standing on your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we’re not together anymore” AU"
> 
> It's depressing. Wouldn't recommend reading it if you're in a bad way, let's put it that way.

Robbie was a sentimental man. He always had been, and, in his mind, there was nothing wrong with it. Keeping trinkets was his way of remembering those that might be forgotten.

Val had an entire drawer dedicated to her. The perfume she liked to wear, her favorite scarf, her engagement and wedding rings were all contained in that drawer. That drawer made him simultaneously happy and sad. Sometimes, it gave him an unwelcome rush of memories when he opened it accidentally while scrambling for his socks or ties.

Robbie was moving out, moving in with Laura, in fact. It was high time Val’s things became a memory box. Robbie had gone to the craft store especially and bought the prettiest little box for her things. Hopefully, Laura wouldn’t get too curious, but even if she did…

Robbie wasn’t swelling on Val anymore. If he were, he wouldn’t be taking this step. But he was ready for this. Val was his past, Laura was his future.

Robbie locked the box, smiling. “See you later, pet,” he murmured, fingers running over the intricate design on the box. He got up and went to put it by his suitcase when he stubbed his toe on the bed.

“Criminey!” Robbie snarled, sitting down immediately to cradle his foot. After the worst of the pain had passed, he chanced to lean over to deposit the box in place. From this new viewpoint, something caught his eye.

A plain white shoebox covered in dust. It looked to have seen some water wear, as the white cardboard was worn away in some places. There were some smudges on it, possibly from newsprint or pen. But, otherwise, it seemed an unremarkable box.

Curious to the end of his days, Robbie lifted the box off the floor. Papers inside it shifted with gravity and made a soft thunk against the southernmost side of the box. Now that the whole box was exposed, Robbie could see that the northwest corner of the shoebox lid had come unglued and was hanging loose and exposed, giving the box a messy, forgotten feel. Robbie ran a finger through the layer of dust on the top and came away with fingerpad nearly gray-white with the stuff. He rubbed it away, offended, and then opened the box.

Papers indeed. Robbie shuffled them. There were a few postcards, too. Venice, Rome, Vicenza. And the papers, Robbie could see, were stationary.

Letters in a hand still familiar to him, as if it were engraved on his heart forever more.

“Morse.” Robbie breathed, feeling a rush of warmth and affection wash over him. As he dove his hand into the box, he remembered one very specific conversation with his guv…

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Why didn’t yeh tell me you were goin’?”

“Robbie, I’m hardly accountable for—”

“Don’t give me that. Yer “accountable” so I don’t worry about yeh fallin’ off the face of the Earth!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeh bloody better be! Why didn’t yeh at least write?”

Morse’s face was filled with both confusion and hurt. It made Robbie cup his lover’s cheek gently in his palm, watching unshed tears floating across Morse’s blue eyes like clouds in the sky. “Sir?” He kissed him. “Luv?”

Morse drew in a shaky breath, clasping Robbie’s hand in his own. “No one’s ever cared enough.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

This box was the result of that. Not only did Morse write when he went on holiday, but also whenever he had the time. And Robbie kept them all. They were treasures to him, which became even more important after Morse’s sudden, though not entirely unexpected, death.

Robbie’s fingers traced the elegant letters and smiled. It was like going back through time, especially since Morse, fastidious about details, dated every single letter.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

November Fifth, 19-

God, it’s getting so cold already. I’m freezing my arse off. I don’t know how you remain so cheery, love. 

I envy you that.

Sincerely,  
M

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

April Eighteenth, 19-

I’ve been gone two days and I miss you already. Don’t let the other CIs cock up any investigations. Push hard, keep your nose to the ground. You’ll get to the truth, I promise.

I’m enjoying Venice so far. An interesting city. Though, I do fancy I can add “seasickness” to an endless list of my weaknesses. And alas the beer tastes of mold.

I long for Oxford. I’ll be back sooner than scheduled. Strange will have a field day.

Fondly yours,  
M

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Robbie chuckled, reading over the letters one by one. Some of them were a bit rambly; Morse getting sidetracked talking about art and music and philosophy that, even after fifteen-odd years of working with the man, and eight more with James, he still didn’t understand. 

Some of them were about cases, quick jottings that barely made sense to Lewis anymore: “Black hat crisis-it was the fur, not the wool! Meet at Trout to discuss. Bring file. -M” 

Some were more romantic: “Driving in today, saw a flower still in bloom, hanging onto its petals as the wind blew. Thought of you. Stay strong. –M” 

Reading them brought back vivid memories for Robbie. Lazy afternoons spent with head on Morse’s lap, the older man’s hand in his hair, watching the clouds. Frantic lunches in various bars, the smell of stale ale and smoke and the noise of a crowd associated with the thrill of the chase. The rumble of the jag’s engine as it carried them here, there, and everywhere. The soothing sound of one of Morse’s classical pieces. 

Robbie’s hand found a letter buried in the bottom. It smelled of hospital, different from all the others. And, unlike the others, it had not been delivered by Morse himself. Robbie had found it while cleaning out his desk after…

After.

After the world grew dark for the first time in his life. That day was, of course, the day Morse’s light went out for good.

With trembling fingers, Robbie opened the letter, just as he had that day, sitting in Morse’s chair and trying very hard not to start blubbering at work.

Morse’s handwriting was different, the usually smooth lines wobbly, as if it took great effort to write. The month and date were smudged; Robbie could only read the year: 2000.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Dearest Robbie,

I’m very sick. I’m not all right. If I don’t live long enough to see you again, it will be my fault, but I couldn’t bear to have you here.

No one should have to watch a loved one die. I have, and it tore my heart out.  
I love you. It has been an absolute joy to work with you. You are brilliant, the brightest star I have ever seen. You will outshine me, and you will outshine your contemporaries. Don’t let the fire burn you as you soar close to the sun; beware, Icarus!

Loving you has been…indescribable. You showed me hope where I saw none and provided the torch to guide my way through the dark. I hope you know that. I hope you know I cherish you.

Robbie, if I die, don’t stop. Your life is precious; don’t put it on hold for an old bastard. Get out there and be the best you can be! It’s what I want you to do.

I love you so much, my little Geordie star.  
-Endeavour

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Robbie sniffled, rubbing the tears from his eyes. The paper itself was tear-stained, from when he’d read it the first time. He shook his head, sniffling. “Damn you, you bastard,” he murmured.

Robbie closed the box again and stood with a stretch. He packed up everything in the BMW and got in. In silence, he drove off towards Laura’s place.

Morse’s old house, no cars at home, was just up ahead. Despite himself, Robbie pulled up to the kerb and parked. He got out and walked up the steps. 

The stained glass still shone through, making patterns on the far wall. The house had changed hands more times than Robbie could remember, as if Morse was sorting through tenants from beyond the grave. 

Which, Robbie told himself, was utterly ridiculous. Morse would’ve scoffed at him.

Robbie still remembered their last kiss. He’d driven Morse home in the jag and walked him to the door. Morse was tired, hadn’t been sleeping well, too weary for company. “Go home,” he’d told Robbie. “See your wife, kiss your children.”

“I want to kiss yeh first.” Robbie bent down, and their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. They hugged in the porchlight for a long time, Morse’s ear against his heart, Robbie’s chin resting on his head.

“I love you.” Morse whispered.

“I love yeh too.”

“Goodnight, Lewis.”

“Night, Sir.”

Robbie’s fingertips brushed against the door before he smiled. “Goodbye, Sir.” Then, he turned his back and walked to his car.

Morse and Val were his past. Laura and James were his future.


End file.
